


House Arrest

by in_lighter_ink



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1-500 words, Comment Fic, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_lighter_ink/pseuds/in_lighter_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Sherlock, Lestrade/Mycroft, house arrest</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Arrest

Mycroft had gone to bed the previous night complaining of aches and a sore throat, and had woken up sneezing and sniffling and generally looking like hell, but insistent on going into the office anyway.

Lestrade did not concur.

For three entire, silent, minutes, they'd engaged in a full-on Eyebrow Battle Royale, Lestrade stood blocking the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched, right eyebrow stubbornly armed and ready; Mycroft (rather woozily) peering back with his own already raised in a pre-emptive strike against Lestrade's logic, briefcase and umbrella already in hand.

The bout of sneezing rather ruined the imposing effect to which Mycroft had doubtlessly been aspiring.

"See?" Lestrade finally said, not unkindly. "You're not going anywhere. World can run itself for the day."

"I assure you, Gregory, it most certainly cannot."

"It can with that assistant of yours around. Besides, love, you could barely manage the buttons on your waistcoat this morning. What on earth makes you think you can manage the North Koreans?"

Mycroft cocked his head to the side, fixing Lestrade with his best 'we've been over this' look, the one usually reserved for especially recalcitrant Tories. "Regardless. I have a duty --"

"And you're more qualified on your worst days than most on their best. Yeah, I know. But you're no use to anyone if you keel over at your bloody desk!"

"It's not that I fail to see your reasoning, my dear, but…" Whatever infuriatingly calm rebuff he'd been about to craft got cut short by another series of sneezes.

Lestrade crossed the short distance between them and divested Mycroft's unprotesting hands of briefcase and umbrella. Threw them gently onto the chair behind him. "Yeah, all right. Back to bed. I'm phoning Anthea and making soup. Might as well --"

"I've, ahem, already taken the liberty of informing your superiors of your absence. Today and tomorrow, I should imagine." Mycroft's arms slid around Lestrade's waist.

"You conniving, selfish bastard!" Lestrade grinned. "I _knew_ there was something off about that last sneeze… just wanted to make sure I put us both under --"

"I'm an ill man, Gregory. Far too ill for your attempts at police-based humor, surely." There was a decided twinkle in Mycroft's eyes, giving lie to all his 'symptoms.'

"-- _house arrest_ ," Lestrade finished, undeterred. "If you wanted a duvet day, you could have just asked, you know." His voice had dropped half an octave, and his hands had found their way into Mycroft's hair.

"This was more enjoyable. There are certain… personal benefits to arousing your protective instincts."

"Personal benefits, my arse."

"That was rather the idea, yes."


End file.
